A Collection of Roses
by BryndRose099
Summary: Oneshots inspired by the colors of roses and their meanings. A wide spectrum of friendship to romance and everything in between, this can span from fluffy and cliche to unconventional methods of showing love to your country of choice. Reader x Various


**A/N:The color purple has a traditional association with royalty. In this regard, shades of lavender roses suggest an air of regal majesty and splendor. ****The lavender rose can also signify a ****_love at first sight, _****or an****_ enchantment _****with someone****_._**

* * *

When you met him, it was awkward. Undoubtedly awkward, considering the fact that you were on the job while he was a patron of yours. A customer. Nothing more.

Yet when you had waltzed out in front of your audience to announce the need for a volunteer, he had found whatever pull he described it as irresistible. Again and again you had asked him to explain himself when he had sought you out after your show, after the performers were asleep or drinking or whatever it was that they did in the dimming hours of the evening. He couldn't describe it as anything more than a magnetism, a tug of faith that had urged him to follow after you.

You had scoffed, of course. _Faith? Faith is useless, and only ungrounded beings can be moved by faith._

In the end you had succumbed to allow him one date. It was all you could give to him, with your constantly traveling spectacle and ever-present want for more. More money, more freedom to perform, more people, more viewers, _more_.

His idea of a date could have been considered your maximum capacity for romance, as he had set everything up perfectly for a picnic at sunset. Well, if only he hadn't have had to worry about you and your suspicions about his affection. Being the tough owner of a show as outsized and variant as yours had hardened everything about you from the inside out.

You had showed up in ripped jeans and a gravely stained tank top while he had appeared to pick you up in what had to be the most extravagant clothing you had seen on a man. His tattered blond locks had been brushed back in a ponytail and tied with a red string of ribbon. As his eyes scanned over your confidant, yet nonchalant figure, he had grinned at you anyway. It was odd, trying to make him unimpressed with you while he was smiling so tenderly towards you.

_You must think I'm like every other date you've ever been with, right? Like I'll be so easy…_

But he had never told you anything like that, and it slightly had you relieved when he decided to keep things relatively platonic. He had confounded you around every step of the date, and hadn't forced you into anything other than a simple peck on your hand. It had been so completely bizarre when he had seen you in average, trashy clothes and had kissed your knuckles ever so gently as if you were a lady whom he was escorting for the evening.

As you complained about the walk to his desired destination, he offered to carry you and literally swept you off your feet. When you ate like a glutton as he brought out the food that he had claimed to make, he merely laughed at you and nibbled on a piece of the loaf of bread he had packed while watching you bemusedly. You had spilled wine on him "accidentally," which created even more problems when he noted that even if you were quite graceful in your natural setting underneath the tents of your circus, you were clumsy outside of the habitat. He had "helped" you by placing his hand over yours on the glass and assisting you as you drank. You elbowed him ruthlessly when he tried to kiss you, but he had apologized for being too straight-forward and complimented your strength.

There was simply no way to get him to stop treating you like royalty. No matter what twists or kinks you threw into his original plans for the evening, he always adapted and flexibly shot up through a different route. It was almost irritating how tender and affectionate he was towards you.

But you supposed that after he led you back to your personal tent and tried (and failed) to kiss your cheek goodnight, it was okay. And when you walked to your makeshift mattress and desk, you saw a note that he must've placed there before you left as you hadn't allowed him entry to your private tent afterwards. You sat on your mattress, kicking your feet up to the ottoman in the middle of your area to get comfortable as you read his undoubtedly sappy note.

_'Mon pur cher (1),_

_I cannot help this feeling that keeps drowning me each time I see your beautiful face. It is like the ocean, which pulls me in deeper against my will and your combined efforts. Please do not hold it against me if each time you smile I find myself being dragged in to kiss you, as your simper is as brilliantly implemented as the acts I watched you perform in earlier this evening. _

_I know that you are not the type of person to wish to hear something like this, but I find myself drawn to you by a fated love and I know that you must feel the same. I have left you a rose to wear for your show tomorrow, simply tie the red string around your hair so that I may know whether or not pursuing you will be an option. I have also made sure that there are no thorns or piercing leaves on the stem to mar your silky skin. I will be watching and waiting desperately for tomorrow, mon amie (2)._

_Sincerest of loves,_

_Francis'_

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably at the amount of metaphorical language he used. Tears sprung at your eyes before you could catch yourself, and you glanced over at the desk where you had found the note to spot a light purple rose that must have been artificially colored. It was enchanting, really, and there wasn't a single thorn as he had said.

_Desperate is right-this guy is great!_

When the next day rolled around, Francis had showed up at your show in the front of the rows of spectators. You flashed a cheeky grin at him especially, brandishing the flower knotted into your hair as you continued your announcing. He got the idea, as his eyes brightened and he relaxed into his seat even more.

_Perhaps it's cruel what I'm doing to his "love at first sight," but if he's willing to give himself to me for my entertainment, what could I have to lose? _

* * *

**So, a bit of irony at the end, a bit of a tsundere reader, and then the conclusion to my first oneshot of this miniseries. Next up is Japan, but feel free to ask about requests (as long as you have a flower color to go with it)! I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters, nor do I own you~**

**Translations:**

**(1)Mon pur cher means My pure/unadulterated dear**

**(2)Mon amie means My love**


End file.
